


The Crooked Kind

by ThisShallNeverBeMentioned



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, prince!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned/pseuds/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could remember people talking to him, calling him Prince, could remember the twisting stone corridors and rich tapestries, the smell of the dining hall with it’s long tables of exquisite exotic food…</p><p>"You still don't believe me, do you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

__

__

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh yeah? Can you prove it?”

Gavin froze as the villager in front of him abruptly stopped and turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised and a mocking smirk on his face.

 _Proof?_ How could he prove who he was when he couldn’t remember _which_ kingdom he came from? He didn’t even recognize which village he was in – though he hadn’t exactly spent much time outside of the castle – but he was sure, he just _knew_. He could remember people talking to him, calling him Prince, could remember the twisting stone corridors and rich tapestries, the smell of the dining hall with it’s long tables of exquisite exotic food…

His stomach gave a long rumble, and Gavin felt his face heat, and hastily searched his pockets for something, _anything_ , that would help him.

A couple of villagers walked past, barely glancing at them, and as he took a quick inventory Gavin was suddenly aware of just how little he had left on him. There were the rings on his pinkie fingers and thumbs, tight plain bands of gold that his kidnappers hadn’t managed to prise off or hadn’t deemed worth cutting his fingers off for; they’d been more interested in the precious stones sewn into his jacket and waistcoat, his belt with his daggers and money pouch and – he groaned internally – everything that held the insignias of his kingdom, the only things that would have been useful to identify him.

When he looked up again, the villager was still watching him, his smirk falling into a wry smile. And pity, plain in his eyes and in the way he didn’t seem at all surprised that Gavin couldn’t prove who he was.

Horrifyingly, he felt tears form in the corners of his eyes, and he opened his eyes wide in an effort to stop them falling. _Pathetic really,_ that he’d put himself in this situation through his own naivety, that he couldn’t remember where he’d come from and so couldn’t help himself, that no one would know who he was, that he would probably never get home… and now that he was desperately trying not to cry in front of a stranger who most certainly thought him a fool or a simpleton.

Not a Prince.

“Uhh, hey…” Gavin flinched when a hand fell on his uninjured shoulder, but the villager didn’t remove it, just squeezed lightly. “Look, dude, I’m sorry, but you’ve got to see it’s kinda unbelievable. You just don’t look like royalty, no offence.”

Gavin sniffed, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to force his eyes dry. He met the villager’s eyes, and was slightly surprised at the sympathetic look he received.

“If there was some other way of you proving it, like, I don’t know, reciting the names of all the royals and their advisors-”

He could! He could remember as a child memorising every little detail of the kingdoms to the delight of his tutors. His heart leapt at the chance, and he hurriedly took a breath. “King Burns; advisors Hadley, Tuggey, Altuin, Barnley. King Sorola; advisors Dunkleman-”

A hand clapped over his mouth.

“Fucking Christ, dude, I wasn’t serious!” Brown eyes widened at him in disbelief. “ _I_ don’t even know their names so I wouldn’t be able to tell if you were telling the truth or not.”

Gavin deflated, hopelessness rising once again. The hand over his mouth loosened and then fell away, but the one on his shoulder stayed, and he felt vaguely thankful for it. It felt grounding.

The villager was chewing on his lip, eyes narrowed. “Look,” he said again. “If you don’t have a place to stay-” his gaze flicked across Gavin’s form again, taking in the sparse clothing, the dirt and the blood, and lingering on the cuts on his neck.

He sighed, and then he was pulling Gavin along by the grip on his shoulder, striding off down the street. Gavin let himself be led, stumbling slightly over the cobblestones.

“M’ names Michael.” The villager added, turning a corner. “In case you were wondering.”

Gavin blinked. “Oh. Right.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “And as we’ve already established I don’t believe you, and I’m not really one for titles, so I’d appreciate something to call you other than ‘Prince’.”

He was navigating the twisting streets and small alleyways with barely a glance, weaving between the market stalls and other villagers so quickly that Gavin grabbed at the hand on his shoulder to avoid being separated. Michael grunted and grabbed his hand instead, ducking by a group of livestock being driven by their owner. They passed through an archway into a narrow walkway, doors leading away on both sides and a stone staircase at the far end, the buildings rising up on either side of them and blocking most of the sunlight.

“Well? You got a name or not?”

Gavin started. “G-Gavin. It’s Gavin.”

Michael threw him a smile over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Gavin.”

They slowed to a stop outside one of the doors at the far end, and Michael drew a chain out from around his neck, fitting the small key hanging from it into the lock on the door. There was a click, and then Michael was tucking the key back out of sight and tugging Gavin threw the door after him.

Though it had been dim in the alleyway outside, it still took a few moments for Gavin’s eyes to adjust to the dark inside. Michael’s hand slipped from his, and with a few mumbled curses a bright flame flared up in one corner, throwing yellow light around the space.

The room was surprisingly quite large, not in width, but in length, and Gavin noticed several other doors leading off to one side. There wasn’t much furniture; a thick wooden table sitting in the centre of the room covered in large sheets of paper and half burnt candles in holders, a writing desk and chair against one wall, and several chests in various states of disrepair along the other. There was a fireplace, small and tucked away with a pile of logs beside it.

Michael had finished lighting the candles, and was leaning against the table, looking faintly amused. When he saw he had Gavin’s attention he grinned and stepped forward, sweeping into a low flourishing bow.

“Welcome to my humble abode, your Majesty.” He straightened with a chuckle and wandered to one of the doors, beckoning Gavin to follow. “Now. I’m starved. Hope you know something about cooking.”

He didn’t, but Michael didn’t seem that perturbed, just handed him a small paring knife and showed him how to peel and cut the small red potatoes while Michael set a copper pot to boil on the wood stove. He vanished for a minute, before reappearing with a paper wrapped shape that turned out to be a roughly plucked headless chicken. When Gavin’s stomach roiled at the remaining quills and blood, Michael just laughed and handed him a small dried stick to chew on, saying it would settle his stomach.

Michael seemed to quite enjoy teasing him, and despite his words earlier took every chance to call Gavin ‘your Majesty’ or ask ‘the royal Prince’ to check if the potatoes were cooked through. And surprisingly, it didn’t bother Gavin at all. It helped ease the knot of despair in the pit of his stomach, and drowned out the little voice in his head that said that he’d never get home.

After the meal – which, though small and simple compared to the usual array that Gavin was used to, was amazingly filling and delicious – Michael retrieved another chair and they sat at the table. At Michael’s encouraging, Gavin recalled all he could remember about the kingdom he’d grown up in, trying to remember landmarks or crests, but the small scribbles he did had Michael shaking his head blankly. He tried not to be too disheartened, and instead told Michael what he could remember of the kidnapping.

He’d been in the morning markets, and had lost his guards in a crowd, and when a voice had called his name he’d turned. A hand went over his mouth, a blade pressed to his throat, and nobody had taken notice as he’d been dragged away. Gavin had struggled, kicking out at his attackers – he thought there were about three, judging by the number of hands pulling at his fine clothes – and when they’d gone to take his belt he’d bit down on the hand over his mouth, resulting in a sudden stab of pain at his shoulder and the cuts at his throat. He’d tried to cry out, something heavy and solid struck him across the back of his head, and he knew no more.

Until he’d woken up in the street, head spinning and nothing familiar around him.

Michael’s frown had grown more and more pronounced as Gavin had talked, and when he finished his story, Michael stood and walked around the table, carefully feeling across the back of Gavin’s scalp. He found the lump and small bit of dried blood and Gavin winced.

“Sorry.”

He fetched a small basin of water and a cloth, pulled his chair around next to Gavin, and carefully dabbed at his head. He tugged the neck of Gavin’s shirt aside as well, inspecting the stab wound and cleaning it before announcing that it was a shallow cut and Gavin probably wouldn’t die. He’d dressed it with a bandage, and gone to tip the water out before bringing back a fresh bowl before turning his attention to the cuts on Gavin’s neck.

“They’re just nicks.” Michael murmured, one hand under Gavin’s chin and the other dabbing at his throat. “No worse than a shaving cut.”

“Thank you.”

Brown eyes had met his, and the hand on his chin tightened briefly before he moved away, and Gavin didn’t comment on the tiny flicker of what looked like sorrow he’d seen on Michael’s face.

The door next to the kitchen opened into a small bedroom. There was a cot pressed against the wall, a brown fur pelt lying across it, and another small chest in the corner, which Michael opened and rifled through, pulling out a spare pair of trousers and a shirt, throwing them at Gavin, pointing him to another door.

“They’re not exactly the robes you’re probably used to, your Majesty,” Michael said with a teasing smile, and his eyes flicked over Gavin’s appearance once more. “But better than what you’re wearing now.”

Once he’d changed into the clothes in what turned out to be a small but clean bathroom, Michael had pointed him to the pelt-covered cot. A glance back to the main room showed an unrolled blanket set up on the floor, and Gavin hastily protested taking Michael’s bed.

Michael just rolled his eyes. “I’m used to sleeping anywhere. Somehow I doubt you are.”

“But-”

“Gavin, just-!” He sighed, and put his hand on Gavin’s uninjured shoulder, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Just shut up and take the bed, Prince.”

Before Gavin could protest again, Michael vanished into the bathroom, and so he hesitantly crossed to the cot and slipped beneath the pelt. It was surprisingly soft and warm, and his eyes drooped as his exhaustion caught up with him.

Light footsteps passed by the door, and paused. Gavin couldn’t open his eyes, sleep pressing at the corners of his mind, but he heard Michael sigh and murmur to himself before the footsteps continued on and the material of the blanket on the floor as Michael settled down.

Gavin fell asleep with Michael’s words echoing in his head.

“What am I doing?”

 

 


	2. The Holes In My Head

 

He hasn’t been able to sleep longer than a few hours for years. Even in a safe place, even with his sword at his side, even in the fortress he’s built for himself with locks and bolts, he stays awake late and rises early. All it takes is the smallest sound to pull him from his light sleep, and then he’s unable to drop off again until he’s worn himself out.

Maybe it’s that he can’t quiet his mind. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to.

He’s reaching for his sword automatically when a soft sound wrenches him from sleep, and he curses when his hand scrabbles against floorboards for a moment, before he remembers. He’s in the main room, on the floor; he’s not in his bed, because he gave it to-

A muffled whimper.

Michael stands, pads quietly to his bedroom door, and pushes it open.

The low burning candles cast a golden light into the room. His ‘guest’ has curled up in the furs, but Michael can see the glint of the rings on his fingers and in his ear. He can also see how Gavin frowns in his sleep, fingers twitching.

He whimpers again, and Michael wonders if he should wake him; he knows the horror of night terrors well enough, knows that helpless feeling, the fear. But he also knows that he himself wouldn’t want another to see him in that state, to see his weakness.

The decision is taken out of his hands as Gavin relaxes, and his expression smoothes into the neutral peace of untroubled sleep. Michael watches him, but he doesn’t stir again, breathing slow and deep. If only escaping nightmares was so easy for everyone.

Michael doubts Gavin’s ever had true nightmares before; his ignorance was clear enough in his fumbling last night in something so basic as preparing food, and how eagerly he’d tried to prove to a stranger that he was a Prince, as if it was natural for him to be listened to and believed without question.

He leans back against the doorframe, gaze traveling over his sleeping guest. He’d acted naïve enough for Michael to believe that Gavin is some sort of noble, or at least from a well to do family, especially judging by his jewellery. And his clothing had been of fine quality, if tattered and dirty.

But a Prince? No chance.

If a member of the royal family was missing there would be guards and searches swarming over the city within hours, and it had to be over a day since Gavin claimed he was kidnapped. No, not royalty, just a spoiled rich kid who got his brain scrambled when he was hit over the head by some lowlife thieves. Hardly worth the sort of hospitality that he was dishing out.

It was the defeat, plain and clear in Gavin’s face that had made him reach out. Something about him looked so helpless, so desperate, in a way that he hadn’t seen before in the other destitute he’d passed in the street. He lacked street smarts, lacked common sense; he wouldn’t have lasted long on his own.

Michael sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s making excuses to himself, now, as he always does.

The fact of the matter is, he’s taken Gavin in, and in doing so has taken responsibility for him. Simple.

Gavin turns over amid the furs, snuffling down even further until only his tousled hair is visible. Michael feels a smile curl unwillingly at his lips.

Oh, if only it were that simple.

 

It takes only a few minutes for Michael to pull on his boots and his tunic, to strap his sword to his belt and disguise it with his overcoat, to slip a small money purse inside his shirt. There are only a few hours until daylight, but that was enough time for him to do some digging, just to satisfy his own curiosity.

 _And if there_ is _a noble’s son missing_ , a small voice in his mind whispers, _then they’d probably be_ very _grateful to have him returned._

 

\- - -

 

Gavin wakes up sweltering under the covers and kicks them off with a groan, reaching blindly for the pitcher of water usually set by his bedside. Instead of the glass jug, however, his hand comes into contact with a cool metal handle. Blinking sleepily, he follows the line of metal with his fingers and then sits up with a small yelp as it slices through his skin.

Tiny beads of red blossom from the cuts on his fingers, and a glance to the side shows a similar red on the edge of the blade sitting beside the bed.

“You alright in there, Gav- oh shit.”

Gavin swings around to stare wide-eyed at the door, taking in the incredulous expression leveled at him. His half-asleep mind races to catch up with the situation, and he lets out a breath as he puts together the man’s face with his rescuer from the previous day. Michael is nothing like the faceless, terrifying figures that had been in his dreams, open concern on his face as he stands barefooted in the doorway. There’s no dagger at his throat.

“You’re a walking disaster.” Michael says exasperatedly, shaking his head. “Honestly, just- how badly did you cut yourself?”

Gavin looks down at his hand. His fingers have started to throb slightly, blood trickling down to his palm.

Michael crosses the short distance from the door to the bedside – kicking the dagger aside as he goes - and carefully takes Gavin’s wrist in his hand, examining the cuts. After a moment he sighs, dropping his hand.

“Come on.” He beckons and Gavin stumbles to his feet to follow him to the main room.

Michael pushes him into a chair, and fetches a damp cloth and bit of gauze from the case he’d used to wrap Gavin’s wounds the previous night, hands moving quickly and skillfully to cover up the cuts. Gavin watches curiously, taking in the deftness and confidence in his movements, never once jostling the cuts.

“Are you a doctor?” he wonders, and Michael looks up with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s just that you’re very good at this.” Gavin elaborates, wiggling his wrapped fingers.

Michael scoffs. “No, I’m not a doctor. It’s pretty common knowledge to know how to dress wounds.”

“Oh.” He chews at the inside of his cheek absently, and decides not to mention that he’s never had to tend to his own wounds, let alone worry about anything worse than a paper cut.

While he has his supplies out, Michael decides to take the opportunity to check Gavin’s other injuries. He winces slightly as Michael’s fingers probe the bump on the back of his head, and holds very still when he moves to the stab wound on his shoulder. To take his mind off the memory of how it had got there, Gavin asks the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Why do you have a knife beside your bed?”

“It’s a dagger, not a knife.” Michael answers, deftly replacing the bandages. “And it’s for protection.”

“Against what?” Gavin asks.

Michael straightens, and looks down at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he reaches out a hand and lightly traces the healing cuts on Gavin’s neck.

 

 

“What do you think?” He murmurs.

When his eyes meet Gavin’s, there’s a flash of the same sadness that he’d glimpsed the night before, and his skin tingles when Michael’s fingers linger on his throat.

He suppresses a shiver, but it’s not from fear. Even though he’s practically a stranger, and even though he’s starting to realise just how naïve he has been, living all his life in his castle, Gavin can’t help but trust Michael. Because as far as he’s concerned, Michael’s rescued him. Taken him in without any clear reason beyond a good heart and given him food and his own bed, and dressed his wounds with care. If that’s not good enough reason to trust, Gavin doesn’t know what is.

Michael’s hand drops, and doesn’t quite meet Gavin’s eyes as he puts away the leftover gauze, but as he steers him towards the kitchen to get some breakfast, there’s the hint of a smile, and Gavin returns it widely. Michael’s scoff at his smile just makes him grin, and he counts it as a victory when Michael chuckles.

 

\- - -

 

They’re halfway through breakfast, sitting opposite each other at the table, when Gavin glances up and realises that Michael isn’t eating. He’s staring hard at a point over Gavin’s shoulder, a deep-set frown in place and hand clenched around his spoon.

Gavin looks over his own shoulder reflexively, but there’s nothing but the blank wall, so he leans forward and waves his hand in front of Michael’s face. It takes a second, but Michael blinks, his frown vanishing for a moment before his reaches up and snatches Gavin’s wrist, holding it still. The frown’s back in place, but it seems more teasing this time, so Gavin just grins at him and wiggles his fingers. Michael rolls his eyes and releases him, suddenly tucking into his porridge with gusto.

“What’s got your head in a knot?” Gavin asks, going back to his own breakfast.

Michael’s eyes flick up to him, and he very deliberately puts his spoon into his mouth, raising his eyebrows. When he makes to open his mouth even though he hasn’t swallowed, Gavin shakes his head quickly, and looks down with a shudder, taking the hint.

They finish eating almost at the same time, for all that Michael only started when Gavin was half finished, and Michael leans back in his chair, spoon still in his mouth, and looks Gavin over contemplatively.

“You really can’t remember,” he starts, and takes the spoon from between his teeth, spinning it between his fingers. “Anything about where you’re from? Anything useful.” He adds quickly. “Like the name of the castle or the land, or your kingdom’s colours?”

Gavin wracks his brains, but shakes his head, frustration twisting his mouth down. Michael doesn’t look any happier, eyes going out of focus and crease appearing between his eyebrows. Then his eyes widen a little and he drops the chair back to all four legs, leaning forward on the table.

“You were pretty good about remembering all those King’s advisors yesterday, you sure none of their names rang a bell?”

At the shake of Gavin’s head, he huffs out a breath and looks away, his shoulders dropping. “Course not.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Michael lost in thought, and Gavin fiddles with the rings on his pinky fingers, desperately wishing they had some markings on them. His selective memories are more than a little confusing, and endlessly frustrating. Michael had mentioned something about a mild concussion yesterday when he’d first looked over his injuries, and Gavin figures that would be the cause of his fuzzy memory. When he thinks really hard, he can almost recall faces, but they’re blurred, and the names that go with them slip away as soon as they surface. He can recall various crests and symbols, but none of them are really familiar, just a product of being required to learn and memorise facts about the kingdoms and lands…

“Right!”

Michael’s hands smacking on the wood of the table makes Gavin jump and look up. Michael’s standing, and he quirks a small smile at Gavin’s reaction.

“We’re going. Come on, get up, dump the bowls in the sink, I’ll get you a coat.”

“What-Michael-?” he starts, but Michael’s already disappeared down the hallway. He hesitates, and then dutifully collects up their bowls and utensils and takes them to the kitchen. He carefully rinses and scrubs them as Michael had done with their dinner plates last night, absently wiping his hands on his borrowed trousers.

As soon as he wanders back out into the main room, Michael’s throws a coat at him, pulling an overcoat over his own shoulders, and then his satchel-bag over that. Gavin spots a glint of metal and leather at his side as he moves and jolts as he realises it’s a sword.

“You might wanna put your boots on, unless you enjoy wandering about barefoot.” Michael prompts, and crosses to the desk in the corner.

Gavin puts the coat in his arms on the table, and sits down in a chair to pull his shoes on and lace them up, watching Michael go through drawers and pull out various sheets of paper and odd objects.

“Michael?”

He doesn’t look up, eyes scanning papers. “Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

“We, are going to- _fuck_ -” There’s a string of curses as pages spill from a leather-bound book as Michael picks it up, and he hurriedly collects them all before dumping them back in a drawer. “To see a guy, who might, _might_ just be able to help us figure out where the hell you- got it!” He quickly flicks through the book in his hands, and then puts it into his bag with a grin, turning. He crosses the room in a few strides, pulls Gavin up by his arm and picks the coat up from the table, swinging it about Gavin’s shoulders.

“Come on, your Majesty.” Michael says with a smile. He pats Gavin’s cheek once with a palm and crosses to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open. “We’re going to find out where your home is.”

 

\- - -

 

Gavin stares as they walk along the main street, taking in the shop fronts and the houses and buildings. The boards nailed together to cover up holes in the cobblestone, the patchwork canvas over stalls, how nothing is completely new, all of it simple but well made, and fixed rather than replaced. There’s something inspirational about how nothing is left to go to waste, at least as far as he can see.

Even the people’s clothes are mismatched, made sturdy and simplistic, and most carry bags like Michael’s with them, one hand on them at all times, alert.

Children and animals race through the streets, and several times Gavin is knocked into and stumbles before Michael takes his upper arm in a supportive grip, an exasperated look on his face.

“You’re either unbelievably sheltered or _really_ clumsy.” He states exasperatedly at one point when Gavin gets caught up in the middle of a crowd.

Gavin just ducks his head with a small laugh and focuses more carefully on where he puts his feet.

He still looks, though, and finds himself watching the way Michael moves effortlessly, ducking around scuffles and easily dodging the market stalls and vendors. It’s different in the main street, more open and straightforward to navigate, but still very busy; yesterday he’d only managed to get himself lost in the side-streets – though he’d blame the knock on his head for some of his lack of direction – and eventually just wandered aimlessly, imploring any villager that walked by him for help, until one had stopped.

They round a corner, and Michael’s hand on his arm makes him look up; his breath catches as he catches sight of the castle rising over the roofs of the town in the distance, but no clear moment of recognition comes to him, no familiarity. The turrets and ramparts recognizable in shape, but not in their positioning above the castle walls.

Michael clearly catches the way his face lights up and then falls so quickly, because his hand squeezes reassuringly at Gavin’s wrist.

“No?” he inquires simply. Gavin glances at him, and shakes his head, trying to smile indifferently. He’s not sure he succeeds.

Michael’s hand tugs on his wrist and they keep moving.

They’ve passed out of the bustle and crowds and onto a narrower street, though it’s still wider than the alleyways around near where Michael lives. They come to a stop between two stores, a butcher’s and an apothecary, and Michael peers into the windows of both stores before approaching the entrance to the apothecary, gesturing for Gavin to follow.

Inside the walls are lined with shelves, and a long cabinet runs down the centre of the store. Every inch of space is taken up with bottles and jars, and a few shelves play host to collections of books. Hanging from the ceiling are bundles of dried flowers and plants, tied up with different coloured string, and giving the air a cloying medicinal smell. Sitting behind the counter, a magnifying glass in one hand and a tiny vial in the other, is a large man with orange hair and a beard that hides most of his face. Behind him is another cabinet filled with books and small vials. He looks up, expression unreadable, as the string of bells over the door trill when Michael pushes it open.

“Jackland, how’s it going?” Michael calls out, grabbing Gavin’s wrist when he goes to touch one of the low-hanging bunches, and pulling him along behind him up the narrow space between the shelves to the counter.

“Hey Michael,” the man replies in a deep voice, leaning his head to one side. His gaze, sharp behind glasses, scans over Gavin and comes to rest on Michael’s grip on his arm. “Are you picking up strays, now?”

Michael snorts, but he drops Gavin’s wrist, and leans against the cluttered counter. “I need a favor, actually.”

The man sighs, and puts the vial and magnifying glass to one side. “Spit it out.”

Michael’s lips twitch in a smile. “First- Jack, meet Gavin, supposed Prince and royal amnesia-afflicted idiot,” he waves his hand between the two. “Gavin, meet Jack, master of potions and weapons crafting for all your shady underbelly needs.”

Jack laughs, wide smile breaking across his face. “‘ _Shady underbelly_ ’?” he questions incredulously. Then he double takes at Gavin, eyebrows rising. “Wait, Prince?”

“We’re not entirely convinced of that, yet.” Michael adds quickly.

Gavin throws a quick frown at Michael, and then turns to Jack with a bright smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jack.” He holds out a hand and Jack stares at it for a moment, his eyebrows nearly lost under his fringe, before he takes it and shakes once.

“So… what is it you need from me, again?” Jack asks.

Michael shrugs. “Info, mainly. See, his highness here,” he shoots a quick smile at Gavin. “Can’t actually remember what Kingdom he’s from, or who the ruler is. And seeing how there’s not been a siege of royal guards down in town, he’s obviously not local.”

“Hmm…” Jack’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two, and then he stands and nods his head to the backroom door.

“I think it’d be best if you told me the whole story, to start with.”

 

 

The backroom appears to be Jack’s study and living room rolled into one. There are more books, but less tidy than in the store, sitting on shelves and in stacks on the floor. Jars of dried plants, preserved _things_ that Gavin tries not to look too closely at, and ground up concoctions sit in bowls and mortars along the centre table.

They sit down, and after a small prompt from Michael, Gavin tells his story, same as he’d told Michael. He tries to relate the smallest details of the kidnapping to Jack, and it leads into what he remembers before, how there are some things he knows, just _knows_ to be true, and some things that are blurry or just plain blank gaps in his memory. Michael’s hand moves from the table, to his shoulder, to rest at the back of his neck when his voice falters over trying to describe the castle, his old home, and the light pressure lets him finish steadily.

When he finally stops talking, Jack hums, and gets up from his chair, rifling through the bookshelf behind him. He comes back to the table with a couple of books, and flicks through one until he comes to a page bearing crests and coats of arms.

“Any of these look familiar?” he asks, and pushes the book towards Gavin.

He peers over it, wishing desperately for recognition to kick in, but though he thinks he’s seen some of them before, no single one jumps out at him. He shakes his head, pushing the book back, but Jack doesn’t look discouraged, just thoughtful.

“Makes sense that it’s not one of the close provinces. News travels fast, and if there were rumors of kidnappings or assassinations going around they’d have reached here by now.” He smoothes the page of crests under one hand, and then turns to Michael. “I can ask around, try and get something from further afield. But-”

Michael holds up a hand, the other reaching for his bag. “I know, I know, nothing for free, no guarantees. I already owe you for last time, here,” He pulls out the small book and hands it to Jack. “Found this lying around, probably fetch a good enough price if you don’t want to keep it for your collection.”

Jack’s eyes go wide when he opens the book, and the look he gives Michael is both appreciative and wry. “Just lying around, huh?”

Michael grins. “You know me, Jack. Nothing underhand.”

Jack snorts, and carefully tucks the little book away in a scrap of fabric. “Maybe not. _Mogar_ on the other hand-”

“So.” Michael interrupts, and links his fingers together, stretching his arms over his head. “We good?”

“Sure, sure.” Jack leans back with a dismissive wave. “Can’t guarantee anything, but if there’s any news out there, I’ll find it.”

“Thanks, Jackland.” Michael stands, and nudges Gavin upwards as well, herding him towards the door. “You know how to get a hold of me when you get something.”

They’re at the door when Jack calls from behind them. “Michael.”

He’s still sitting at the table, arms crossed, and his gaze switches to Gavin for a second before it locks back on Michael.

“Can we have a word?”

Michael’s hand tightens briefly on Gavin’s shoulder, but then he steps forward with a shrug. “Sure.”

Gavin catches the unspoken ‘in private’ and stays beside the door, carefully studying the bookshelf beside him, letting his eyes move across titles and authors. He still catches some of the whispers.

“… _royal_ , Michael, it just doesn’t happen.”

“He might not be-”

“-the way he acts-”

“-like you said, it _doesn’t happen_ -”

“-if he is-”

“-just some noble’s son, that’s all. Probably grew up in the castle and with the size of the lump on the back of his head-”

Gavin grits his teeth and tries to block them out. He’s probably staring so hard at the books it’s a wonder they haven’t caught on fire. It’s an effort to keep his fingers relaxed and not clench them into his palms like he wants to.

Finally, there’s a sigh, and he looks up in time to see Jack clap Michael on the back with a weary look. Jack raises a hand at Gavin with a small smile.

Gavin forces a smile and waves back. “Bye Jack.”

“See ya, Gavin.”

Michael lightly touches his arm as he passes, and Gavin turns to follow Michael back through the apothecary out onto the street.

 

 

“That went well.” Michael shoots him a grin, hands shoved in the pockets of his overcoat as they set off back towards the main street. “Jack’s thorough when it comes to information. Got a lot of connections, and he’s a stickler for getting the truth.”

Gavin doesn’t reply, following a couple of paces back, but as Michael starts whistling, he can’t help but ask quietly. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Michael’s gaze flicks to him for a half second, but he doesn’t miss a beat when he answers cheerfully. “Sure I do.”

He frowns, and startles when Michael drops an arm around his shoulders, knocking his chin lightly with his hand. He looks up, and can’t quite suppress his smile in the face Michael’s own.

“Come on, your Majesty, I’m taking you to lunch.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so.  
> Not sure how often this will be updating, but I'm going to aim for around once a week :)


	3. Home Behind My Eyes

 

The tavern is more like a hall, a huge wooden structure held up with what looks like entire trees and crossbars stretching almost fifty feet across the ceiling. Long tables with benches take up most of the floor space, though there are a few smaller round tables and chairs sitting in the corners. The bar itself resembles a kitchen; while along the front is a line of kegs and mead taps, against the back wall sits a large cast iron stove, and there’s even a spit with a haunch of meat roasting slowly over a fire. Stairs lead to a balcony above and what Gavin assumes to be rooms for the owners and guests to stay in.

It’s only half-packed, being only a little past midday, and warmly lit from the abundance of oil lamps hung from the wooden pillars. A few locals, a few hunters huddled at a corner table, and around two-dozen soldiers in armor are interspersed between the long tables and the stools at the bar.

Michael leads him through the tables towards the bar, but pauses halfway. A grin crosses his face, and he takes a loose hold of Gavin’s forearm to pull him over to a pair of soldiers. The taller one has a sleepy expression and a moustache, nursing a tankard between his hands, and the other one has his dark stubbled chin propped up on one hand, leaning his elbow on the table, eyes closed. He opens them and looks up when his companion nudges his elbow at Michael and Gavin’s approach, and Gavin realizes how young he must be when he smiles.

“Well look who’s back,” he says in an amused voice.

“Ray,” Michael nods with a smile. “Nice to see you back in one piece.”

Ray shrugs. “Can’t get rid of me. Just too good.”

“And modest.” Snorts the tall, sleepy one. “Good to see you, Michael. Who’s your little friend?”

“Hey, you too, Geoff.” He tugs on Gavin’s arm again, and then puts his hands on Gavin’s shoulders. “This is Gavin.”

Geoff raises an eyebrow. “New arrival?”

Before they’d entered the tavern, Michael had stopped Gavin and pulled him to one side of the street, lowering his voice to tell Gavin that, given the strange circumstances, it would be best not to mention that he’s a noble. That not everyone would be willing to help him, more help themselves, and that they wouldn’t care what state he was in if the idea of gold or a reward was put in their heads.

 _“It’s only an idiot that trusts implicitly.”_ Michael had given him a crooked smile, and then dropped it. _“There’s more bad people in the world than good.”_

So they’d agreed that, if asked, Gavin was just a traveler from the country, not used to town-life. A nobody, because a nobody was safer than anything else.

Michael’s hands squeeze his shoulders for a brief moment, and Gavin nods, a nervous smile on his face. “Nice to meet you.” He tries.

“Pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.” Geoff says, raising his tankard with an easy smile.

Ray’s eyes linger on Michael’s hands with a curious look, and they drop from Gavin’s shoulders, Michael moving to take a seat on the bench opposite them, Gavin following. He’s almost expecting an awkward silence, but then Geoff rests his crossed arms on the table, eyes trained on him.

“So Gavin,” Geoff starts, leaning forward. “Where’d you meet Michael?”

Gavin looks towards Michael, who just rolls his eyes and leans back on the bench.

“In the street.” Gavin replies honestly. “I was a bit… lost, and he offered to show me around.”

“Really?” Geoff chuckles. “You must’ve looked a sight, then.”

Gavin blinks in confusion. “Why?”

“Because Michael’s not the type to just give out charity.” Ray says. “At least, not anymore.”

Michael half-heartedly punches him on the shoulder. “Fuck you, Ray, I’m the nicest person I know.”

“That’s because you only know us, and we’re worse in comparison.”

“That’s true.”

“Seriously, Gavin,” Ray leans forward and wraps his hand around Gavin’s wrist. “Get out while you still can, or you’ll become as bad as the rest of us.”

“Nah,” Michael grins. “He’s an asshole, too, he’ll fit right in.”

“What?” Gavin squawks. “I’m nice!”

“You’re clueless.”

“That’s not _my_ fault.”

“You didn’t know the difference between a knife and a dagger.”

“Because I don’t exactly spend my days going around with swords and sharp pointy things strapped to me.” Gavin pointedly glances at Michael’s belt, where his sword is hidden beneath his overcoat. Michael grins widely at him.

“I can introduce you to some sharp pointy things.”

“ _Ugh_ , no flirting at the table,” Geoff grumbles, rolling his eyes, though the quirk of his mouth isn’t quite hidden behind his tankard. “You’ll put me off my food.”

“Speaking of,” Michael continues, standing up. “Food is exactly what we came here for.”

“I’ll come too.” Ray says, making a big show of getting to his feet and stretching tiredly. “I haven’t eaten anything for at least two hours. I keep falling asleep.”

“You’d fall asleep on a battlefield.” Geoff mumbles. He shoves his now empty tankard at Michael. “While you’re up, refill.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but takes the tankard. “Sure thing, Geoffers.”

He and Ray walk off towards the bar, and Gavin belatedly realizes that he probably needs money, since Michael has been feeding him, and he’s not sure whether he’s depleting his supplies. He doesn’t even know what Michael does for a job, though it must be enough for him to not worry about feeding Gavin, as well as have his medical supplies. He fiddles with the rings on his pinkie fingers, wondering if he could trade them for currency, when Geoff clears his throat. Gavin looks up sheepishly and meets Geoff’s gaze.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” he asks with a half-smile.

Gavin’s not sure what he means, and can’t help his eyes flicking towards the bar. When he looks back, Geoff’s smile has grown. “Um.” He says, eloquently.

“You met each other, what, a couple of weeks ago?” Geoff inquires. When Gavin shakes his head, his eyebrows raise. “When, then?”

“Just- yesterday, actually.” Gavin frowns slightly at that, thinking about how much has happened between then and now.

Geoff seems really surprised by that. “You’ve only known him a day?” He whistles, eyes scanning over Gavin. “That’s gotta be some kinda record. Are you staying with him, or-?” Gavin nods, and Geoff laughs abruptly. “Damn, dude. That’s a first.”

“You’ve known him a long time then?” Gavin asks curiously.

Geoff nods. “Yeah, known him most of his life. Cute kid. Wanted to be a soldier when he grew up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Qualified, too, alongside Mr Flying Colours over there.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the bar. “Even though he was technically too young to join.”

“Ray?”

“Yep, kid’s crazy talented. Course, that means he climbed the ranks pretty quick and got put in my squad. Now I’m stuck with him until they decide to make him a Sergeant.” Geoff sounds irritated, but the way he talks shows clearly that he’s actually quite proud. Gavin gets the sense that Geoff feels a bit like a father toward Ray. And Michael too. Though that reminds him.

“You said Michael qualified, but..?”

Geoff sighs, and turns to look to the bar. “He pulled out of sign up the night before. Wouldn’t tell anyone why. He’s done his own thing since then.”

Gavin follows his gaze. Michael and Ray are standing turned toward each other, a couple of steps away from the bar now, plates and tankards in hand, and talking quickly. As he watches, Ray shakes his head, and Michael sighs before nodding. He takes up the tankard from Ray and walks over to Geoff and Gavin, putting down the plates and tankards on the table with a grimace.

“Something’s come up.” He says, directing his words at Geoff. “Ray knows about it. Can you keep an eye on Gavin for me?”

Geoff nods, smiling tightly up at Michael. Gavin’s about to open his mouth to protest about him needing to be ‘kept an eye on’, but Michael meets his eyes, frowning deeply, and Gavin’s words die in his throat without explanation. Michael holds his gaze for a few moments, then glances away to the bar where Ray is waiting, looking over at them.

“Eat up.” He murmurs, head turning infinitesimally toward Gavin, and then he strides away, clapping Ray on the shoulder as he passes, and disappearing into one of the doors at the back of the tavern.

Feeling a bit bewildered by the abrupt departure, Gavin stares at the door, and then realises this is the first time since the kidnapping that he’s been alone, or at least, alone without Michael, and it startles him a little. But as much as he relies on Michael, Michael in turn seems fairly protective of him, and he doesn’t think it likely that he’d leave Gavin alone with people he didn’t trust. Ray and Geoff are soldiers, and obviously good friends with Michael. They’re safe. He starts when Ray returns, sits down and pushes a plate towards him with a comforting smile. He lets himself relax a little, and picks up some of the bread and cheese on his plate. After taking a bite he realises he’s really, _really_ hungry.

He’s cleared half the plate under the amused gaze of Geoff and Ray when he swallows, and gives them a sheepish grin.

“Hungry, huh?” Geoff notes. “You’d think Michael doesn’t feed you. He used to forget to feed himself, you know.”

“Too busy training.” Ray adds, picking at his own plate of food.

“And you didn’t train enough, yet you still managed to get into the guard.” Geoff muses. He leans towards Gavin conspiratorially. “Too busy trying to get laid.”

Gavin laughs when Ray lets out an indignant noise.

“Hey, ladies love a man in a uniform, or so I’m told.”

“It’s when what’s _underneath_ the uniform comes out that everything goes to hell.”

Ray shakes his head forlornly. “It’s a tough battle. War ain’t got nothing on the complexities of dating.”

“Not for Michael.” Geoff says idly. “That kid couldn’t get them to leave him alone. Used to see him abruptly run out in the middle of lunch, spouting some excuses about forgetting to lock up his practice sword or having a watch duty.”

“He still leaves abruptly in the middle of lunch.” Ray comments, gesturing over his shoulder. “We’ve just seen that.”

Gavin’s eyes flick to the door that Michael left through again.

“Does he do that a lot? Just leave?”

The two soldiers exchange a glance. Geoff drains his tankard, and reaches across the table to lay his hand on Gavin’s shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture.

“Michael’s given himself responsibilities.” Geoff answers carefully. “It’s not neat hours like being in the guard, but he’s still a bit like a soldier, in his way.” He hesitates, considers Gavin for a moment, then smiles kindly. “He’s a good guy, Gavin. Just a little different than most.”

His hand squeezes Gavin’s shoulder - and Gavin gets a vague flash of memory, of a broad hand across his shoulder blades, ruffling his hair, reassuring – and then Geoff lets go, and picks up his tankard, rolling his eyes as Ray shifts the other one towards Gavin. He picks it up at Ray’s nod, and takes a sip, scrunching up his nose at the strangely sweet taste of the mead. He’s only ever had wine before, and never more than a glass, never enough to make him feel anything but slightly sleepy.

“So… what exactly _does_ Michael do?” he asks, not quite expecting an answer.

“He’s a midnight vigilante.”

Ray’s straight-faced answer makes Geoff chuckle and choke into his drink, and Gavin can’t help but smile as Ray continues.

“Steals from the rich, gives to the poor, gets some on the side and leaves a trail of broken hearts.”

“More- more like broken noses.” Geoff laughs.

“Won’t need to break Gavin’s.” Ray says slyly.

“What? What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Dude, have you seen it? It’s like a target, I’d be surprised if you haven’t broken it before.”

“I did trip once and fell on it.” Gavin admits. Geoff and Ray burst out laughing.

“You _fell_ on your _nose_?”

“How does that even happen?”

“I was running in the castl- where I shouldn’t have been and tripped on a stair.” He crosses his fingers under the table, and takes a large gulp of his mead, hoping they don’t notice his slip. Luckily, they both seem too amused to notice.

“What, just the one stair?”

Gavin grins himself, laughing a bit at the memory. It’s one of the less vague ones he has; it’s only when other people become involve that the details slip away. “It was a small one, too. Only a couple of inches high.”

That sets Geoff off again, great hysterical laughs that Gavin can’t help but join in with. Even though it’s at his expense, the pure joy in that laughter combined with the pleasant warm haze that’s settled in his stomach from his drink, puts Gavin completely at ease. He’s become used to a fair bit of teasing from Michael already. Ray just shakes his head.

“You’re an idiot.” He tells Gavin happily.

Gavin raises his drink. “Cheers, Ray.”

 

\- - -

 

The sun’s setting, casting long shadows onto cobblestones lit up by the golden glow of the last light. As he walks, his boots tapping quietly along the streets, he slides his sword back into place on his belt, making sure his coat hides it from view. There aren’t many people out at this time, but he figures it’s better safe than sorry, so he takes a turn at a side street and skips across a few low stonewalls. The shortcut takes time off his journey, too, so he feels justified. Back up an alley, and he’s onto the main street, rounding a corner, then he’s striding towards the warm yellow glow of tavern.

There are more people here now, come for lodgings and food and meetings, and it takes Michael a few well placed elbows to get through the groups milling outside and then the crowded doorway. Finally, he’s inside, and it’s slightly more organised chaos, people walking every which way and balancing plates of food and several overfilled tankards, the mead slopping over the sides. He starts off towards one of the long tables, where he’d last left his friends earlier in the day, keeping his coat tucked around him and trying to avoid getting drink spilled on him.

A smile makes its way to his face when he hears their familiar voices through the ruckus, but it vanishes and he stops abruptly when he catches full sight of the table. Ray and Geoff are talking, the latter leaning an arm on Gavin, who in turn is slumped over the table amid an abundance of empty glasses and tankards, one still clutched loosely in his hand.

“What the fuck?”

Gavin’s head shoots up at his voice, and a grin spreads across his face as he catches sight of Michael walking over to their table.

“Hi Michael!” he sings happily.

Michael shoots a look at Geoff, eyes narrowed. “Did you get him drunk?” he demands.

Geoff holds up his hands and widens his sleepy eyes in an innocent expression, though it’s ruined by the wide smirk on his face. “You told me to feed him, so I did, and lunch just happened to come with a pint or two.”

“Or six, or twelve, knowing you.” Michael grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and glancing at Gavin, who’s watching the two of them with a dopey smile.

“Only five, Michael!” Gavin exclaims. “I counted.” He looks ridiculously proud for a moment, before his expression melts into a confused pout. “Or was it six…”

Michael stares at him for a moment before whirling on Ray, who’s watching the whole scene with an amused smile. “You didn’t think to stop him?” he demands incredulously.

Ray shrugs.

“I’m not his mother, it’s up to him how much he can handle. He seemed happy enough.” He pauses, casting a glance at Gavin, who’s humming under his breath and spinning his glass with a dazed smile on his face. “Until he passed out.” He adds.

Michael sighs heavily, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes. He resists the urge to voice loudly that Gavin of all people probably has the _least_ idea of how much alcohol he can stomach. He doubts that Gavin’s ever been introduced to the heavy mead that town-folk are used to, and definitely not as much as Geoff tends to drink in one session. It’s enough to put anyone under, and not at all surprised that Gavin had passed out at one point. He barely looks awake now; eyes half-lidded and out of focus, hair standing on end messily as though someone had scrubbed a hand through it thoroughly.

As though aware of his thoughts, Gavin reaches up and unsuccessfully tries to brush his hair flat, then gives up and drops his chin in his hand, looking up at Michael again with a warm smile.

He drags his eyes away and turns to glare at Geoff, whose smirk has only grown wider over the top of his tankard.

“Should probably take him home.” He suggests. “Unless you want to join us, relax a bit.”

“I’ll pass. Losing all cognitive sense is surprisingly not my idea of relaxing.”

Geoff rolls his eyes. “You should try it sometime. Fun’s not a sin, Michael.”

“I never said it was. Just that I’ve had enough of the aftermaths to know that drinking myself into a coma isn’t as fun as it’s cracked up to be.”

“I never said you had to drink.” Geoff says with a raised eyebrow and nod towards Gavin that Michael decides to ignore. “Anyway, Ray’s here and having fun, even without the beloved Mistress Mead.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Michael just shakes his head, a small smile sneaking onto his face despite himself. He turns back to Gavin and gives in to the urge to ruffle his hair. Gavin whines and waves his hands ineffectually at him and Michael can’t help but chuckle lowly.

“Come on, Gavin, we’re leaving.”

Gavin _hrmm_ s, and manages to catch one of Michael’s hands in his, holding it tightly. He remains hunched on the bench, resisting when Michael tries to use his hold as leverage to get him on his feet, so Michael wraps a hand around his waist and hauls him up. Gavin yelps and his fingers tighten around Michael’s, before he gets his feet under him and giggles, leaning heavily into his side. When he attempts to rearrange him and get a better grip, all he succeeds in doing is causing Gavin to laugh harder at the fingers under his ribs, and then turn his face into the space between Michael’s neck and shoulder.

Geoff chuckles at the sight of him, not at all fazed by the warning glare Michael sends his way. He reaches up and taps a finger on Gavin’s forehead, waiting for him to look up.

“Take care of yourself, buddy.” He says fondly, and Gavin grins at him.

“I will!” he chirps back, then looks over. “Night, Ray!”

Ray laughs. “See you later, Gav. You too, Michael.”

“Yeah,” Michael pulls Gavin tighter against him, and starts towards the door. “Thanks for…”

Geoff waves off the half-hearted gratitude, still smiling. “Have a good night, Michael. And come around sometime, our squad doesn’t move out for another week. It’s good to see you again.” He adds, voice dropping.

Michael pauses, opening his mouth guiltily, but Geoff waves him off again with another goodnight, so he starts walking Gavin to the door. It’s slightly easier getting out of the tavern than it was coming in, and he suspects it has something to do with Gavin draped over his shoulder.

It’s dark outside, and it’s only with how well Michael knows the streets that Gavin doesn’t stumble on the uneven stones. He’s wobbly on his feet, humming under his breath as they make their way down the street, the sounds from the tavern fading away as they turn a corner.

When they reach the narrow alleyway, he has to prop Gavin against his side long enough to get the key and chain out from under his shirt and unlock his door. Then he’s maneuvering them inside and kicking the door shut, throwing the catch, and pulling Gavin up when his legs try to give out. He knows his way around in the dark, so easily locates a match and candle. Gavin hums into his neck when the wick flares, and leans against him more. He’s ridiculously light, even with most of his weight on him; Michael can remember nights letting Geoff lean on his shoulder back to their rooms, and though he’s not weak by any means, it’d been a struggle by the end of it.

As it is, Gavin follows obediently when Michael leads him into his bedroom, eyes closed and a relaxed smile on his face when he sits him down on the bed, placing the candle on the floor.

“Hang on…” Michael holds his shoulders when he goes to lie down, tugging his coat off and throwing it in a corner. Gavin leans his forehead on his shoulder while he unlaces his shoes, rubbing back and forth lightly. He sighs when Michael pulls his shoes off and sprawls back on the bed when Michael gives him a little push. It takes another minute to get him under the fur covers, and when he sits back, Gavin’s eyes are open, candlelight reflecting in them.

“Michael,” he slurs, then yawns, rubbing at his neck with one hand.

The scars on his throat are almost invisible in the low light, but Michael focuses on them, unconsciously reaching out a hand to trace them, his fingers brushing Gavin’s. He pauses briefly, and then continues up, fingers trailing along his cheek. Gavin hums and closes his eyes again, pushing into his palm, and Michael chuckles. He pulls his hand away and reaches for the candle, standing.

“Night, Gav.” He murmurs, and quietly steps out of the room.

 

The maps and scribbled notes in his pockets are emptied onto the table in the main room, the candle set down, and his sword put away before he lets himself fall into a chair. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, and kicks off his boots. Between his fingers, the candlelight blurs the words on the parchment together, and he shakes his head once, then sets to work.

 

\- - -

 

He thinks he hears wind chimes.

 

The stone is smooth and cool beneath his feet when he slides out of bed, and he barely makes a sound as he walks, pushing open a heavy wooden door, intricately carved. The patterns continue along the hallway, in the tapestries and royal blue carpet, carved into the stairs and falling in coloured light on the floor. He looks up, at the large stained glass window, feels the faintness of the sun on his face.

A hand between his shoulder blades, warm and large and familiar.

He’s wandered these halls so often, treads soft on the carpet, and stops in the doorway. The room beyond is filled with people, all in rich clothes of velvet and silk, gems at ladies throats and ears, and more than one decorative scabbard hanging from a belt. The room glows gold, lit with candelabras set high on the walls.

Blue eyes meet his, sharp and piercing, and then they soften. A hand waves him inside.

He steps into the gold room.

_Gavin…_

Outside, great open expanses of green grass and clipped hedges. He walks along the cobblestone path, past huge iron gates, idly following the grove of trees. There are footsteps behind him, his guards, most likely, boots clicking on the stone.

A flag flies in the breeze, a stylized horned beast amid abstract geometric patterns, the trees give way to tents and stalls, smiling faces blur together as he walks past. He can hear the wind chimes, looks for them, walks further along the path, and then steps onto the grass, his footsteps muffled as he passes between two tents.

The slide of metal, leather glove over his mouth, and he can’t breathe properly, kicking out wildly and pulling at his arms, suddenly captured in a harsh grip.

The cold metal at his throat stills his movements, for a moment, but then the hands are pulling at him, at his clothes and belt, pinching and gripping hard, the blade slips and nicks his skin and he tries to scream through the leather, tries to bite. The blade presses harder, then it’s agony in his shoulder, stinging pain, and he sees the red of a second knife leave his flesh, feels it slide out and wet warmth spill from the wound in it’s wake.

Hot breath at his ear.

“ _Welcome home_.”

Then the blade cuts through his throat.

 

\- - -

 

Michael jerks awake, shaking the table and nearly causing the candle to topple. His hand shoots out to steady it; it’s half melted away by now, and he runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He’d fallen asleep on his notes, and tiredly wonders if there are ink stains on his face, when a pained whimper reaches his ears.

He’s on his feet in seconds, at the doorway to his bedroom, and he’s reminded of the previous night, of the exact same scenario, from the noise that woke him to where he’s standing now, staring around for some sort of danger. He relaxes minutely when he’s sure that there’s nothing in the room, and tenses again when Gavin whimpers.

It’s worse tonight. In the dim light, he can see that Gavin’s kicked off half of the furs and is curled tightly on his side, shivering, one hand wrapped around his neck. He keeps twitching, and whimpers again, eyebrows pulled together. Michael hesitates at the door, torn, but then Gavin whines, long and high and Michael sees him bite down on his lip, hard, and he’s crossing the room in a couple of strides.

“Gavin.” He hisses, grabbing at his wrists and dragging his hand away from his throat.

Gavin flinches and tries to pull away, and when he releases his lip from between his teeth a trickle of blood follows. Michael releases his wrists to grasp his shoulders instead, shaking him insistently.

“ _Gavin_ , wake up, come on.”

With another hard shake, Gavin’s eyes fly open with a gasp, his hand grasping at his throat again. His tongue darts out across his cut lip and he winces, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. Michael’s hands shift on his shoulders and he abruptly slams his eyes shut again, shaking and trying to curl up in on himself, fingers gripping Michael’s forearms painfully tight, his breath coming shallower and shorter.

“Breathe,” Michael tells him hoarsely, pulling him up, and he cups his cheek with one hand. “Gavin, breathe _. Breathe!_ ”

After a few long moments, Gavin’s breathing slows and deepens, though he’s still tense and shivers sporadically under Michael’s hands.

He waits, and then slowly leans his head forward, till it connects with Gavin’s, his thumb stroking lightly along his cheek. His eyes open and meets Michael’s, and it’s like all the energy drains out of him, and he sags into Michael’s arms, letting out a shaky breath.

“Hey,” Gavin whispers, and leans his head a little more against Michael’s, closing his eyes again.

Michael swallows roughly, and lets his hand drop from Gavin’s cheek down to his throat, keeping his touch light. “You okay?”

Gavin nods, then stops and shakes his head. He opens his eyes again, not meeting Michael’s gaze, and pulls back. Michael hastily sits back as well, dropping his hands, and Gavin pulls his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms around them.

He opens his mouth once, closes it, then blurts out, “I dreamt of home.”

Michael feels his surprise show on his face, but carefully schools his expression back to something more neutral.

Gavin rests his chin on top of his knees, looking past him. “I… I remember walking, and… a flag and-” he breaks off, teeth clicking. Michael waits, and Gavin looks up at him, brow furrowing.

“And then they slit my throat.” He says bluntly. “Properly this time.”

They sit and look at each other for a long moment, and Michael holds the gaze calmly, though his fists clench on his legs, nails digging into his palms. He stays silent, he’s not good at this, not good at comforting someone else’s fears. He ignores his own - how is he supposed to know the right thing to do, to say? It’s easier to get angry, to scream out his frustration.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Slowly, Gavin hunches into himself, curled up, and he looks so small and lost. He can’t imagine what it’s like, to be so far from home, and yet terrified of home, to have no one but a near stranger to put his faith in. He’d learnt to look after himself early on, and he’s always had someone to fall back on, friends, and people who owe him favors. Gavin only has him, right now, and it terrifies him.

He doesn’t know how to do this.

 

In the end, he stays where he is, and eventually Gavin lies back down on his side, loosely curled up, furs pulled up to his chin, eyes open. His legs are pressed against Michael’s, his hand curled beside his face. At some point, his breathing slows and his eyes slip closed, sleeping peacefully.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh.. on second thought, make the update schedule whenever I manage to get enough time to finish a chapter  
> OTL


End file.
